


Vestiges of Radiance

by YsaX64



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/M, Human AU, Hurt/Comfort, I have No Excuse, Magic, Temporary Amnesia, might stay an one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 02:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16525604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YsaX64/pseuds/YsaX64
Summary: Allura found a drifter from a distant land.





	Vestiges of Radiance

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to drabble...  
> This happened.  
> Also this is vaguely based on Zeke and Tatiana from Fire Emblem Echoes, I just thought they were too cute to pass.

Wet. Soft. A repetitive motion on his chest.

The coldness of a blanket. A sharp pain on his chest. A fly buzzed. His face contorted, as he came to his senses and the dull pain of a fresh cut made him grit his teeth, even if his conscience was still vague.

As of instinct, Lotor opened his eyes slowly. In between his blurry vision, there was few that he could recognize. A hand holding on to a piece of cloth that once seemed to have once been white, but now was tainted in a pinkish hue. Blood. The metallic smell flooded his senses and the hand retreated for a moment.

It was enough for Lotor to be more aware of the sharp pain on his chest, dispelling the fast of sleep. Without much conscious of it, the man let out a broken whimper, the strain too great on his raw throat.

The sound seemed to call back the hand, which came back to his blurry line of sight. It moved quickly. Unfortunately, the movement was too sudden for Lotor. The hand came too close.

A bell blared on his mind. His hand moved with astounding speed, catching the offending wrist and pulling it closer. He felt a coldness and a sharpness that recognized as a blade pressed on his throat. The woman came tumbling on top of him, her elbow sinking down on the fresh wound.

Lotor’s head lolled back on the pillow, as stars blasted on his vision and he couldn’t help but to let out a cry of pain akin to a wounded animal. He tightened his grip on the wrist, a desperate act.

The offending elbow soon retreated, as Lotor’s vision blurred with the tears that budded on the corners of his eyes in pain. His grip loosened instantly, letting the hand go alongside the blade on his throat.

A few seconds passed, Lotor gritting his teeth and shutting his eyes, in order to discourage the sharp pain on his chest. He opened his eyes slowly, to find himself face with a woman, seemingly rubbing her wrist to soothe the bruising that probably would appear. Her eyes, as blue as the sea, glanced back at him, “I’m sorry.”

Confusion must have been etched in his expression instantly, because the woman was quick to add, “For the dagger.”

Still feeling the stiffness of his muscles, Lotor winced as he turned his head to the side. A dagger was just beside him in the bed, now laying harmlessly. He blinked a few times, his conscience still dazed in between sleep and pain. His throat was raw, making hard even the simple task of steadying his ragged breath. “Oh,” that was all he could muster amidst the gleam of the metal, the blade reflecting the sunlight.

Seemingly unsatisfied with his answer, the woman took a step closer, with now calculated slowness. His eyes followed her gently, the strain of the pain letting him aware that he should not try such quick movements again.

“I assume you have any questions,” It was hardly a question, as she muttered it with the certainty of a statement. Lotor didn’t had much time to agree as the woman let go of her wrist to put it closer to his neck. His eyes followed her now slow movement, as she carefully brushed the pad of her thumb where the blade once was.

When she retreated her hand, her thumb came back red with blood.

“I’m a priestess of the Temple of the Lion Goddess,” she muttered, her blue eyes founding his own with an emotion Lotor couldn’t read. She waited a few seconds before continuing, “I’ve found you on the shore, you were badly wounded so I had to take you here,” she let out a small smile, before casting away her glance.

“Our start may have been poor, but let’s put it aside. My name is Allura, what is your name?”

Lotor’s brows knitted, his mind waking up suddenly. His name. His name. His name was Lotor.

But what else. From whence he came?

All those questions and nothing in memory seemed to give him any answers. A dreaded feeling bubbled up on his stomach. Lost.

A few seconds passed before he came back to himself.

“I think my name is Lotor.”

“You think?”

The confusion in her words caught him by surprise. Her eyes widened, eyes as blue as the sea. He swallowed, a desperate attempt to make the rawness of his throat less burning. Lotor rested his head back on the pillow, glaring on the gray ceiling. “What do you mean, Lotor?”

Her voice was careful and somehow that enraged Lotor. Perhaps it was the impatience resulted of the visceral pain he felt, but he had to bite back his bitterness, as he answered, “I do not remember anything.”

She blinked rapidly, before letting out a sigh and looking from his head to his chest, “I understand. Maybe your wounds run deeper than I thought.”

Allura, the priestess, bit on her bottom lip, before picking up the discarded piece of cloth and starting to clean his wound once more, “How we will say to your family that you are well…”

Lotor stiffened, thinking about the possible family and friends he might have left behind. It was an emptiness gnawing on him, that he could not let his mind away from it. It was like a tongue rubbing the hole where a lost tooth once was.

She seemed to have felt the tensing of his muscles beneath her touch, as she quickly stilling her soothing motion, earning a whimper from a pained Lotor. “Of course, I need to stop laying the misery. There is no need to talk about it like this,” she bit on her bottom lip, slipping away from and walking across the room, “I’m sure we will solve it in some way.”

Lotor might have been dazed, but even he could see through the fake confidence in her words. He followed her with the eyes across the small room, sunlight bathing them both due to a window just above his bed.

“In the meantime, perhaps this might help flesh out your memory.”

She was fumbling with something on a table, but Lotor could barely force himself to focus on what she was doing, as his mind was too busy with the possibilities. Worst of all, there weren’t many possibilities for him to fret over and that was what he dreaded the most. The lack of any straw to grasp on was agonizing, but for once, he was grateful for the sharp pain for taking his mind out those idle thoughts.

He closed his eyes for a second and when he opened them back, Allura, the silver-haired priestess, as sitting next to his bed.

Now she had a new cloth in hands, whiter than last time, but still damped with a mix of water and blood. Upon noticing his slight movement, she glanced back at him, eyes wide, of the color of the sky. However, this time, she just dropped her cloth without a thought and extended to him a cup of water.

The rawness of his throat became more urgent as he leaned forwards, even if his chest screamed in protest. The thirst was stronger, even if he hissed in between his gritted teeth.

Allura put a hand on back his neck, earning a wary glance from Lotor, who, despite his immense thirst, stilled just before his lips could touch the cup. She them nudged the wet borders of the glass in between his parted lips, almost pleading at him with her eyes for him to take the water. The priest then rubbed a thumb in a circle on his neck, and he slowly took a sip of the water, casting his eyes back on the glass.

Soon thirst took over, and he began to drink more greedily until the rawness of his throat subsided, earning a playful comment from Allura, “Careful.”

As she took the cup from his lips, the priestess then offered a handful of what seemed too dried stubs of a plant, “It’s Indian clove” she muttered, “It will help with the pain.”

Warily, he narrowed his eyes over her display of kindness, changing the subject suddenly, “You talked about something to help with my memory.”

She just let out a sad smile, closing her palm around the spice. “Indeed I did.”

Then she glanced to the edge of the bed and Lotor followed her gaze to see various armor pieces spreader out, red from blood.

He blinked slowly, forcing his blurry vision to focus on the image just before him. A chest plate that seemed shattered in the left side, mirroring his wound. Bladed vambraces, the grey shade of the metal barely recognizable beneath the blood. A sword, with its blade reflecting little sunlight, most of it covered in red.

Lotor’s eyes went from piece to piece, trying to grasp on any straw that his memory gave him. But there was nothing.

Just the same empty dread leaning heavily on his heart.

He pressed his lips together, furrowing his brows in anger. Such lethal wound on his chest and nothing to understand it. He heard Allura taking in a breath, but halting in a second. Gritting his teeth, he glanced back at her and sputtered, now impossible to hide the bitterness in his voice, “I know you wish to say something, please, do not hold back on my account.”

But surprise soon flooded his mind, evaporating the anger as soon as he saw no pity in her eyes, just a cautious understanding, “ So I believe I am the one that owns you an explanation for this mess”, she gestured towards the bloody armor on the bed.

“And, for…” She trailed off, her mouth draping shut as Allura glanced back on his throat. Lotor pressed his lips together, letting out a sigh as the wound on his side seemed to pulse.

“Yes, I am afraid I can’t make the connection for myself.”

The helplessness of his situation left him uncomfortable in some visceral way, something etched into his mind that he couldn’t help but to stare in confusion at this armor that should have meant so much.

“What you see before you is Galran armor, made for the wars that the Galra Empire wagers.”

Lotor knitted his brows together, his jaw clenching as he tried desperately to make sense of her words. She glanced back at him expectantly, waiting for any recognition on his eyes. When none came, she dropped her eyes to her lap and timidly continued, “You are in a temple of the Lion Goddess, as I said, I found you with these deep wounds on the shore.” She began to fumble with her finger, as if nervous of his reactions to her next words. Yet Lotor did nothing but hitch his breath, eager for any piece that could ground him back to reality.

“We are in Altea, an otherwise peaceful Kingdom that has been invaded by the Galra Empire. Our Kingdom has been struggling with famine and poverty for the past months, and two weeks or so ago, the Galra Empire attacked, burning the fields and taking food from wherever they want.”

Allura, the silver-haired priestess, then cast a wary glance at him, pressing her lips together before revealing the connection the Lotor had just understood, “This armor that you see before you is the one you were wearing when I found, so I can assume…”

She trailed off, her head dropping slightly as her eyes went back her lap. Lotor had to take in a deep breath, his facing betraying no emotion as he completed for her, “That I am a Galra soldier, a man from the very nation that has brought such demise to your home.”

Her eyes were apologetic once she lifted her head, the priestess seeming to shy away from the implicit accusation, “Well, yes. I believe so, but…” she quickly shut her mouth, leaving just an uncomfortable silence between the two.

Lotor then glanced back to his wound, raising his left hand, even as his face tensed from the pain, just on his throat, “So that is why…?”

The priestess glanced back at him, taking her hand from the position on her lap to cover his on his neck. “Yes. I am not proud of that, but that’s why I was so…” she paused for a second, before muttering, “Wary.”

Her hand was warm, a sharp contrast with the coldness of the cloth and of the blade. Lotor found himself not yanking her hand away, but relishing on the quick touch. Closing his eyes, the man let out a sigh, before she slowly put her hand away. “Do you want the Indian clove, now?” she murmured, trying to change the subject, “It would help with the pain.”

His breath was ragged and the soreness on his throat seemed to go back at full force as he mumbled, “Yes,” Lotor relaxed once more back on the pillow, letting go of the subject to favor a way of dulling the pain.

The priestess then picked the dried, brown stubs, putting it close of his mouth until he gently took it. The little things had a sharp flavor, flooding his mouth with an odd sensation, but he cared for none, choosing to trust this woman’s judgment. It wasn’t as if she couldn’t have already killed him, had she wanted to. It wouldn’t take much strength to choke the life out of him or to cut his throat with that dagger. Had Allura wanted to, she would have already killed him.

This thought provoked an uneasiness, as he fumbled beneath his blankets. Just then, he noticed her blue eyes, same color as the sea, glaring at him expectantly. But it was his turn to take her by surprise, as he asked with a dryness to compare to the way his throat felt, “I assume that not all of that blood belongs to me,” he barked a laugh, as her mouth opened and her eyes widened, “For sure, this blood on my sword does not belong to me.”

It was a statement and both the priestess and the warrior knew that.

As the silence dragged on, Lotor muttered under his breath, no louder than a feather falling on the ground, but still shattering the fragile silence between them.

“I assume that makes me your enemy.”

Allura let out a breath, quickly barking out a laugh, “I believed so too.”

It was his turn to quirk a brow and murmur back, “You believed?” As if he wasn’t already surrounded by strange predicaments, one more seemed to be just before him. When she didn’t answer, pressing her lips together in a grimace, Lotor, overwhelmed by the frustration of the overall situation, pressed on the question, “What do you mean by this?”

She then looked into his eyes, that clear shade of blue drawing him into the abyss, when she simply answered, “You talk like an Altean.”

The simple answer seemed to not satisfy him and as the clove seemed to have some effect, Lotor propped himself up with his elbows. She shifted in the mattress, shyly trying to keep the blanket covering the lower part of his body. Allura then pressed her lips together, rambling on as she received no answer from Lotor, “I mean, there is something about you that is very Altean. Also, the Galra are attacking the other side of the Kingdom, so I don’t understand why a lone soldier would be here.”

Lotor, feeling confident on his lack of pain, sit up. He soon regrets his decision but refused to let any sound escape his throat. Luckily for the man, the priestess soon saw the tension on his expression and adjusted the pillow on his back, allowing him to lean back. She then sucked on a breath, but no word left her mouth once more. Lotor then took the opportunity to talk all at once, “I don’t think you had how to know that I sounded Altean before I woke up.” Her face blushed in a crimson hue and the wounded man took that as a nod for him to continue, “Besides, a lone soldier in a temple would be a source for alarm rather than such idle curiosity.”

Her eyes searched his, clouded with pain that she couldn’t mask in such proximity, even if her face betrayed nothing. That pulled on his heartstrings, but the sentiment didn’t reach his eyes, allowing her to mutter one more question, “Should I regret my decision, then?”

Amidst the void Lotor felt, the trembling tone of her voice made him glance away. He couldn’t help but scurry away from the question, feeling an odd taste fill his mouth beneath the flavor of clove, “I’m afraid your attempt at bringing my memories back has only filled me with more questions.” Her hand found his on his lap, shyly giving it an encouraging squeeze, simply allowing him to continue with no judgment, “There is no doubt, if all that you are telling me is true, then at some point I had to… strike down… persons from your nation, perhaps even someone you know.”

Lotor’s mouth was bitter, as he realized that he might be carrying sins he could not remember, nor atone for. The man even noticed, quirking a brow at the notion that he had refused to use such strong word as “kill” to describe it in front of this innocent priestess in front of him.

“Well, do you regret it?”

Her words were soft, no clear emotion on it, and yet Lotor found himself feeling her gaze on his skin, but refusing to look at her. “I do not understand how you expect me to feel guilty over sins I am unsure that I even commit in the first place.”

She laughed, a sound more beautiful than any other he could remember, even when compared to the sound of the birds outside or the low chime of a bell in the distance. “I don’t mean it this way, I wasn’t going to expect it to, however…” She trailed off, letting go of Lotor’s hand to reach for his sword, still bloody, but crusty and dry. The metallic smell floods his senses, mixing the stale with the fresh. “You do, don’t you?”

He swallowed hard, his eyes finally meeting hers in a tired defeat. He looked inside those blue eyes of hers, seeking solace in that sky of blue. Pressing his lips together, he finally relinquished his stubbornness and sighed, “Well, if what men do in times of desperation is to ply for the God’s mercy, tell me, Allura…” He trailed off, relishing on the feeling of her name rolling on his tongue, “I am in doubt, feeling the weight of sins I don’t truly remember, what does your Lion Goddess has to say to this lost soul?”

The burden of the words burned his tongue, but there was nothing else to be said. Raw and exposed, Lotor felt like a wounded animal, expecting her mercy and kind words. Yet, what followed was bittersweet, as she tilted her head, smiling shyly, “I do not know what the Goddess has to say, but I, as a fellow mortal, would like to give you an advice,” with those words, she got up, gathering the cloth, the cup and the armor pieces in her hands, struggling to juggle between them, but ultimately leaving them on a table.

Her back was turned to him, but he couldn’t help but wait patiently for her conclusion. Lotor heard a sigh, as she continued, “Let yourself live in doubt. For you, whose memory is now lost with such little perspective of recovering it,” the reality of her words made Lotor tense up, but it wasn’t a new conclusion, “It would have been very easy for me to preach about the words of the Goddess, to led you through this path.”

“But I will not, Lotor. If you wish to partake in our praying and offerings, so be it. Had I convinced you of her faith, maybe with some persistence I would have quarreled your doubts, but then you would have become nothing more than a puppet, who lost himself and is now filled with something else,” she then paused, leaving Lotor stunned with the raw emotion in her words, “Allow yourself to be lost and maybe one day we will found whoever you were. Until then, I will aid the way I can…”

The priestess trailed off, turning on her heels, but now no hesitance was etched in her expression and Lotor felt a warmth on his chest. She then sat on the edge of the bed alongside him, a warm smile hiding away a hint of sadness dancing on her expression. Her hand found his and, after a bit of hesitance, the man took the comfort, putting his hand over hers.

“Allow me to be your crutch for as long as it needs.”

Yet something in him, the old, rigid voice of his instincts yelled at him, his hand jerking away from hers.

“I fail to understand this.”

The utter betrayal at her expression just fueled his confusion, as he glanced back at his left hand, lacking the warmth he longed for. “You have aided a man that bears the brand of your enemies,” the venom and bitterness in his voice seemed to take Allura by surprise, but he refused to relent. “You claim that your nation is experiencing such famine and poverty, yet I’ve willing allowed the enemy to enter your doors, even going as far as to tend to my wounds.”

He clenched his fist on the blanket, as Allura retained her position, but now her back was stiff and her eyes wary. “I apologize for the trouble, but you didn’t know that I wasn’t at my full conscience. You didn’t know I lacked my memories or that my wounds would cripple me as much.”

He spat out in bitterness, the soreness of his throat unwilling to allow him to continue, yet he persisted beyond the pain, oddly recognizing that he had endured much worse before.

“What am I to you but a stranger? There is no reason to…”

He trailed off, as a coughing fit took over him, forcing him to double down and press even further on the gaping wound. Allura, always quick to tend to him, put a hand his back, alarmed at his condition. Even as he bit the inside of his cheeks, drawing blood, she continued to rub soothing circles on his back with tenderness.

For a few seconds, the two of them stayed like this, waiting for Lotor to catch his breath once. Then, he got up, his face twisting in pain, but making no sound. The man glanced at the priestess, trying to convey all of his doubts in a question.

“Why do you offer me such kindness?” 

Her answer utterly stunned him, her smile felt like the first dawn he had seen in his life, “I wasn’t aware kindness needed a reason beyond itself.” Her voice held a playful lilt on it, and she brushed away the ivory hair on his face before continuing, “As soon as I saw you, something inside of me told me I couldn’t just leave you to your fate.”

The silver-haired maiden before him laughed again and Lotor found himself stuttering with his still raw voice, “W-what?”

As if coming to her senses, Allura widened her eyes, her breath hitching in its track for a few seconds. Then she let a sigh through her parted lips, murmuring, “I could see that you were hurting…” she let her gaze drop to his hand, shyly taking it on hers once more, “And not just physically,”

Lotor, still in his fragile state of mind, couldn’t help but stay quiet as the priestess said, “I carried you alongside me and brought you here…”

As if noticed just as much she had said, Allura’s eyes widened and her mouth draped shut, getting up on a quick motion. “I really need to stop laying on the misery now, don’t I?” Stepping away from the bed, Allura glanced down to the ground, “You can help in the temple if food is what worries you. There is wood to be chopped and cleaning to do, I don’t believe anyone would complain about a helping hand.”

Her face then lit up, eyes as blue as the sea, “But now your only work is to heal. Later, you can have a proper meal and new clothes.” The priestess picked up the sword that until then had been lying dormant beside him in the bed. Lotor had to stare at confusion at the paradox, the silver-haired maiden holding a sword tainted with an unnamed blood.

“I mean all of this. Lean on me, please.”

With those last words, she quickly put the sword aside on the table and, when she was about to walk out of the door to leave Lotor to his rest, the wounded warrior relented.

“Allura.”

She quickly turned on her heels, concern explicit on her voice, “Do you need anything else, I know the blanket must be soaked with blood, but…”

In an inexplicable odd manner, Lotor just took the effort to turn to her, hiding the pain of the words to say one last phrase.

“Thank you, Allura.”

With this hesitant, yet powerful surrender, Allura, the silver-haired priestess smiled warmly at him and closed the door, letting her new guest to his rest.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if I will write more of this, I do have a few scattered ideas.  
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!


End file.
